Redliners(53)

"Shit," Rifkind said. She rubbed a fist into the opposite palm. "I'm going to go get some sleep."

"Yes, I'll go back also," Suares said. Her lips smiled. "I'm not sure how much sleep I'll get."

The two civilians started toward the bonfires. Blohm heard Rifkind say, "This damned planet."

"I'm not sure that it's the planet that is damned," Mrs. Suares replied in the starlit darkness.

* * *

The command group gathered fifty feet from the nearest bonfire. A tiny glowlamp burned in the center of the circle in consideration of Reitz and Lock who didn't wear image intensifiers. Colonists spoke and sang to crying babies, but the crackle of burning wood was generally the loudest sound in the background.

"We'll set out at mid-morning," al-Ibrahimi said. "I'd like to leave at dawn, but it'll be very difficult to get the civilians moving at all for the first few days."

"How will we limit the amount of baggage?" Tamara Lundie asked. "They'll almost certainly want to bring more than they can carry."

The manager's aide wore a bandage of plastic film to protect the antiseptic sealant sprayed over her wound. Her face looked drawn, but she spoke in the even tones that Farrell had come to associate with her.

"Major Farrell, do you have suggestions?" al-Ibrahimi asked.

Farrell shrugged. "Warn people but let them bring what they want," he said. "They'll throw it away themselves after an hour or two."

"I'm worried about food," President Reitz said. She snorted a tiny laugh as she thought about what she'd just said. "Among other things. But I don't see how we can carry enough supplies to last until the relief ship arrives, even with both bulldozers pulling trailers."

Farrell wondered if he should speak. He looked at al-Ibrahimi.

The project manager nodded awareness. To Reitz he said, "We won't be carrying any food or water, madam. Our Strike Force guards are equipped with field converters which process any form of carbohydrate into edible rations. Pure water is one of the waste products. The colonists will operate the converters throughout the day as we march. That should provide a more than adequate volume."

Farrell felt his fingers checking the magazine of his stinger. He forced himself to stop. "People won't eat as much as you think, ma'am," he said.

They wouldn't eat as much as they ought to. Field rations when you're exhausted were as attractive as wet sawdust. Swallowing them down was one more job for a body already overloaded by effort.

"Both tractors will retain their clearing blades," Lundie said, correcting a false implication in Reitz's question. "The tractor in operation at the head of the column won't be able pull a load at the same time. The tractor out of service will pull two trailers with munitions for the Strike Force and ground sheets. Nothing more."

"No," said Councillor Lock. "No. With all due respect, Manager al-Ibrahimi, this is absurd. When the citizens understand what's involved, they'll refuse to go, and they'll be right to refuse. The fact that a half dozen diseased aliens wandered toward the ship—it needn't have been an attack, you know—"

"It was an attack," Farrell said. "I know an attack."

His voice was a harsh buzz, more like a bee's wings than human speech. He stood, then turned away from the gathering. His muscles were trembling.

"Sit down, Major Farrell," al-Ibrahimi said.

"Yessir, sorry," Farrell whispered. He nodded an apology to Councillor Lock, though the civilian didn't understand what had almost happened.

Christ, they should have redlined me. If I'm going to come that close to killing a civilian who can't be expected to know what's going on, what am I going to do the next time I hear a rear-echelon colonel spouting bullshit?

"Councillor Lock," the manager said in a tone with no more anger than the blade of a guillotine, "you are not a stupid man. Do not permit your concern for your wife's neurotic behavior to cause you to say stupid things. Our margin for survival is very slight."

Lock nodded. "Major Farrell," he said, "I apologize for intruding on an area outside my competence. It won't happen again."

Indeed, he wasn't stupid. It'd only taken Lock thirty seconds to put the pieces together.

"I'm wound too tight," Farrell said. He forced a smile to make a joke of what was the truth if it had ever been spoken. "Sorry."

"Apart from the probability that 10-1442 will fall over within the next thirty days, sooner if the rain we experienced is a daily occurrence," Lundie said, looking at Lock, "the danger from the Kalendru is incalculable. We have to assume that whatever forces they have in the area will be drawn to the ship."